My Lords of Strogue. Volume 2 of 3. Wingfield Lewis
still she lingered at the Abbey. Society was in such a state of suspense that freedom of action seemed paralysed. The lady-lieutenant was frightened, and talked of fleeing to London, yet she delayed her journey. The mall and the Beaux-walk were both as full as ever. People went thither in hopes of decided news one way or other-which never came; and being there, they rode and gossiped and joked, because it was the habit to do so.
Emmett and his friends were becoming grievously troubled, for the split in their camp widened daily. Were the French playing with their Irish allies? This continued inaction on their part was incomprehensible; for summer had faded to autumn, autumn was shrivelling into winter-it was almost too late to expect assistance now. Must the effort be postponed till next year? or a forlorn hope be attempted single-handed? To make it now would be madness, for rains were pouring down with Hibernian vehemence-the country was sodden-would soon be frozen-the exposed patriots would die off like rotten sheep. To wait till next year was a bad prospect-who can calculate what may happen in six months? The evil acts of the executive were piling up with terrible velocity. A sense of treachery and of dismay seemed to hang over the capital, for none could be certain who had taken the oath and who had not. Fathers were known to be loyalists whose sons had received the tonsure. Peasant mothers had put pikes in hiding whose daughters were living with the soldiers. Friends met and dined, and laughed with each other about the wide divergence of their views, just as they had done for some time past; but the feeling that though they differed their friendship would not wane was beginning to be shaken, for Major Sirr and his sinister band were abroad. No one was safe from the informer.
There was a dinner-party at the Abbey-a party of typical incongruity. The chancellor was there, all smiles and airiness. Mr. Curran was there, who was becoming strangely absent and sour; his little primrose Sara too, who looked delicate and nervous, and shrank, as if in pain, from conversation, which of course turned on politics. Cassidy was there too, in humble attendance on Doreen; and young Robert Emmett, whom the chancellor condescended to twit scornfully on his behaviour.
'Keep your head out of the noose, my dear young friend!' he said. 'No one is so small as to escape the vigilant eye of a paternal government. Do you suppose we are not informed of your pratings within Trinity? Your bursts of baby-eloquence, which are flowery but foolish? It is a harmless amusement possibly within those aged walls, and the wild talk of undergraduates is of little moment, yet I warn you that it will not be permitted much longer. Oh dear no! We won't do you the honour of arresting you. That would give you too much importance. But it may become my painful duty, as chancellor of that university as well as of this realm, to erase your name with others from its books, unless you mend your manners-that's all; so be warned and wise in time.
Robert chafed and choked at such language as this, which seemed to mark him for a schoolboy before his wistful love; but he stood in such awe of the stately dowager that he only reddened and hung his head. Then Lord Clare, feeling merry, felt disposed to break a lance with his ancient enemy of the Bar; he therefore gaily asked if he might take a glass with Colonel Curran of the Lawyer's Corps-whose military skill would soon be brought into play, considering that the paternal Government had decided at last to propose a suspension of Habeas Corpus. The United Irishmen were behaving so badly-were declaiming in so provoking a fashion about their bonds, that it was as well to show them for a moment what slavery really meant. But this pleasant little sally fell dismally flat; for Curran was already aware of this dreadful resolve, and did not rise in vehement expostulation, as the other expected. So had Doreen heard of it. Her eye brightened a little, but her hand never shook as she leisurely peeled a peach.
When the news had first gone forth, she had ridden over to the Priory, lest haply some one might be there who could advise what might best be done. She found Curran on his doorstep, putting on his gloves.
'I knew they'd do it,' was all he said to her. 'You stop here till I return. I am going to Mr. Grattan.'
Presently he came cantering back on his shaggy pony, and said to the anxious girl:
'There is nothing for it but patience. Mr. Grattan expected this, and so did I. We shall oppose the bill, but that will make no difference. This wretched land is doomed. If the bill is carried, Mr. Grattan will retire from parliament, and so shall I. We are both sick of the murderous farce.' Then, drumming his fingers on the window, in an attempt to keep down his agitation, he muttered forth at intervals: 'Habeas Corpus! the very last guardian of our liberties! They'll bring in the knife when every one's asleep, and stab our guardian in the dark!'
So the lawyer-not taken unawares-only smiled, and, bowing stiffly over his glass, asked quietly:
'Did you ever read Æschylus, my lord? I know you are a fine scholar. You always remind me of Mercury in "Prometheus Vinctus," who was constantly abusing the poor martyr for howling, when his only grievance was a stake of adamant through his breast!'
The party broke up early, as both of the elder gentlemen were due at the House, and the social atmosphere was stormy. My Lord Clare whispered to his old friend at starting that he would call round in the morning, as he had something very particular to say to her. Doreen took the opportunity of imploring Curran to send a message to the shebeen, with intelligence as to the fate of the bill (care of red-polled Biddy), that she might know from him what happened with as small a delay as possible.
That astute person turned out but too true a prophet. The bill which was to close the courts of law, and place power over life and property in the hands of military despots (and such despots!), was shuffled into the House by the attorney-general at 2 a.m., and read for the second time after grave and mature deliberation at 2.10 a.m.; and Doreen, when she read the note which informed her that it was carried by 137 against 7, had an extra douche of sorrow poured over her, in that her too facile parent had been its godfather!
So martial law was declared, and the humane and benignant soldiery, whose good feeling had already been proven at Armagh and elsewhere, were to work their wicked will unrestrained. Doreen was too much upset to appear at breakfast, so my lady picnicked alone on the window-seat which looked upon the stable-yard, watching for her vagrant darling, keeping a keen look-out, too, as to whether her niece went out for a scamper. For my lady had passed a sleepless night-one of those terrible nuits blanches much worse than any nightmare-when all our sins sit heavy on our chests; when our brains throb to bursting, and we hope there is no hereafter. She tossed-listening for Shane's return-growing more feverish as hour after hour passed silently. Still at the Little House! This was maddening. The vision of Shane and Norah arriving to throw themselves upon their knees, danced before her eyes. Once or twice, when sinking into a doze, she sat up with a start, clutching the luxuriant braids of white hair which gave her in her looking-glass such an odd look of winter and autumn united. Manfully she had quelled any shrinking on her own account about returning to Ennishowen. To her who had borne so much, what mattered a little extra suffering? It was excellent advice that her niece had given her. The way, and the only way, out of the labyrinth was to transfer the establishment en bloc; she had recognised the fact, and had resolved, for her dear boy's sake, not to spare herself. But now, in dead of night, when the past stood out in phosphorescent light, and the future loomed even yet more ghastly, she had to fight the old weary moral fight again, in which she had so frequently been worsted. Again she saw her husband on that bed of chairs at Daly's. Again she heard him say, ere the last rattle stopped his voice for ever, 'Make right that wrong while there is time!' Again she welled over with impotent rage, whimsically mixed with penitence, in that she must wear the Nessus shirt which he had shuffled off long since. She realised, as she ruminated, that she had been deceiving herself as to the motives which kept her still at Strogue. It was a terror of the island of Glas-aitch-é at Ennishowen-of the tales which each twig and shrub would tell her there-of the songs which the waves would sing to her as they dashed against the cliffs-which had really delayed her starting. But there must be an end of this weakness. All was ready. For Shane's sake she would like to start upon the morrow, for the sooner she drank her dose the better; but, unfortunately, a promise had been given to attend their excellencies at a great ball which was to take place at the Castle-and to retire suddenly, in ticklish times like these, would certainly be construed as big with political import. But after all, this fête (which was to show the scum that their betters did not fear them) would be past in a few days. Till that time arrived my lady would continue to wait; but in order to underline for herself in her midnight self-communing